


Date Night

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:03:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so they’re making an all-out effort tonight to consciously be a couple, to go on a romantic date and pay more than what is due to that aspect of their relationship, complete with Tatsuya vanishing shortly after lunch to come pick her up from their apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Date Night

He rings the doorbell at seven on the dot; she’s still trying to pick a pair of earrings. One final glance in the mirror tells her she’s fine without (it’s less of a hassle to decide, at any rate), and she tugs her hair over her ears. Tatsuya could always let himself in, of course, but that would defeat the purpose of tonight and Alex does not want to do that right out of the gate.

It had been her idea, after all; they’ve been together long enough but after the first few dates she and Tatsuya had regressed to a version of the way they’d been when they were just friends. It’s even more comfortable now, without worrying about all the palpable tension between them and wondering if it’s okay to want each other like this, and there’s nothing bad about their friendship taking precedence over being a couple in and of itself. But the problem is they’re not really doing much couple stuff at all. Every time Alex decides they’re going to she and Tatsuya end up hanging out, slipping back into the way they’re too used to.

And so they’re making an all-out effort tonight to consciously be a couple, to go on a romantic date and pay more than what is due to that aspect of their relationship, complete with Tatsuya vanishing shortly after lunch to come pick her up from their apartment. Alex slips on her shoes and opens the door, and—wow.

Tatsuya, dressed with appropriate formality in jeans and a cuffed button-down, is holding a large bouquet of sunflowers. He smells like really nice cologne, and he’s looking at her with something like desire in his eyes.

“Hello,” he says.

He brandishes the flowers like a fantasy knight who’s already slain the dragon brandishing his sword for the hell of it. She knows she should probably reach for them but she reaches for him instead, pulls him the few inches up required by her heels and into a kiss. His mouth is warm and sweet; he tastes like cinnamon gum which is definitely what he’d had before their first date when both of them had utterly failed at playing it cool (and knowing him the association is intentional). His hand is firm on her waist, pressing their bodies closer together; his hair is soft beneath her fingers and she’s already quite sure this was a good idea.

And then he breaks the kiss.

“As much as I’d like to continue, we have a reservation in half an hour.”

And as much as she’d like to just let him in and have sex and order a pizza she knows that’s not the point of tonight. She takes the bouquet and turns, letting him get a good look as she walks off toward the kitchen (she didn’t wear a skirt this tight for no reason, after all).

“Nice place you got,” he says.

She stifles a laugh. “It’s actually messier than I’d like. My roommate’s fault.”

“I don’t know about that. Gives the place character.”

She rolls her eyes at him before she fills the vase with water; his laughter mingles with the sound of the faucet.

“Shall we?” he says, offering a hand.

She takes it, lacing her fingers in between his.

The streets are relatively quiet and he takes advantage by driving slowly and keeping one hand locked in hers. She watches him watch the road, the shadows on his neck flexing themselves as he checks the mirrors, leans forward for a turn. She hasn’t studied him this closely in a while, not because she hasn’t had the opportunity but because she’s not used to getting away with it and being this comfortable with the way she sees him. And, yes, he looks nice; he always does—but nicer still than that lovely mouth or those delicate eyelashes or the perfect shape of his nose is how content he looks.

He catches her eye, squeezes her hand.

Dinner is one of those things; it’s impossible not to fall into some of the old platonic traps even when they’re making every attempt not to, knees pressed almost together under the small tables and voices low under the music. They end up talking about the same old stuff, the kids Alex teaches and professional basketball and TV—and then Alex reaches for Tatsuya’s hand or Tatsuya leans in closer or the candlelight flickers and one of them will sneak in a particular kind of comment and she becomes very well aware of how not-platonic this feels. And Tatsuya’s never stopped looking at her with a certain kind of softness in his eyes, a softness she’s usually not close enough to see (if it’s there). His gaze, fixated on her, doesn’t make her feel uncomfortable or weird, but something else, some kind of good feeling she can’t quite name.

“Where to next?” she says when they leave the restaurant.

“Got anything in mind?”

She doesn’t, actually. But it’s nice out, too nice to go back indoors so soon.

“You up for the beach?”

“Sure.”

They leave their shoes in the car and run on the sand, feet digging into the soft grains. It feels so good to have them out of her heels and walking around, so good to be doing this with Tatsuya. They wade into the water and avoid the largest waves until the sun starts really going down. The shoreline is cooler, still loud with the sound of dueling speakers blasting different radio stations and people shouting to be heard above the music, but they find a relatively out-of-the-way spot. She sits with him between her legs, eyes closed and glasses pushed up, her face pressed to the back of his shoulder. It hurts to look into the sunset, especially with the glare from her glasses—Tatsuya probably has his eyes closed behind his sunglasses, knowing him. His hands are knotted in hers; the pulse in his wrist is far steadier than the sound of the waves washing against the wet sand, or the mix of thumping basslines.

She drifts halfway to sleep on the car ride back, sand still clinging to her bare feet propped up on the dashboard, her left hand resting on Tatsuya’s thigh. He’s singing along with the radio under his breath, missing the singer’s frequent high notes completely and getting out of sync with the rhythm whenever he makes a turn, shifting his focus to the clicking of the signal. His voice is light in her ears; his skin is warm through the fabric.

**Author's Note:**

> himualex 4/7


End file.
